


Vice-Chief

by oninofukuchou (OrderOfRevan)



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: Blood Drinking, Character Study, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hamamura Mikoto - Freeform, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrderOfRevan/pseuds/oninofukuchou
Summary: "The burdens of a second-in-command are great."Hamamura and Hijikata and their experiences with the first three times she offered him her blood.
Relationships: Hijikata Tozhizou/Original Female Characters
Kudos: 13





	Vice-Chief

The night was unusually dark when she parted ways from Chizuru and Heisuke, her footsteps muffled by the mist and rain that had suddenly beset them. Flickering lanterns guided her path though she could have walked this hallway blind by now, the wistful thought accompanying a sigh. 

It would be another long night, she was sure, one filled with letters and maps and long winded reviews of courtly petitions. Would she have to help gussy up his clothing again, she wondered? Or would he have some other task for her to do? 

With him, it always seemed to depend on his mood… And when she’d seen him that morning (afternoon? The days were blending into one another now) he had looked as ghastly as a yurei and about as lively. Because he still talked like himself, all piss and vinegar, she supposed she sometimes was lulled into thinking he was just fine after things had changed for him … But he wasn’t the same man he had been before the journey back to Edo. 

At first there hadn’t been much of a difference that she had noticed. 

He ate the same amount he always did (which was almost nothing, if she was being honest … and then a lot all at once when he remembered he was hungry), slept during the night, and didn’t seem to have an abnormal cravings that would indicate impending insanity - or even the instability of Sanan-san. The lack of self control from the fight in the woods was all but gone and once more he was Hijikata of the Iron Will, an unshakeable oni. He possessed none of the sweltering rage or ecstatic glee that had made him drive himself nearly to death in his fight against Kazama. 

But that had only been at first. 

Mikoto had noticed changes in him, slowly but surely, though perhaps only because she’d become so attuned to his needs. Long years spent as his page had made her aware of him in a way she had never been aware of anyone else, perhaps even herself, so she noticed how he grew sallow in the sunlight and only recovered color in darkness. She noticed the way he would squint away from the light and had seen his eyes flash in all the reflective shades of blue and green a cat’s showed from twilight to the first rays of dawn. He complained about subtle changes in temperature more often, or certain smells bothered him that hadn’t before, and his mood swings had become even worse … Though she sincerely hoped that last one was simply because he was too busy to grieve and practically dead on his feet with exhaustion.

They both were, and all the gods and Bhudda knew that she had grown temperamental. 

Her thoughts came to a screaming halt at the sound of a groan from the room in front of her, her entire body turning to face the shoji, stopped short in her tracks by the unexpected noise. Mikoto stood frozen in place, waiting to see if she would hear it again or if she hallucinated it due to lack of sleep, but there was another sharp intake of breath that turned into a repressed cry of agony. 

The noise shivered through her, bringing memories bubbling to the surface of the only other time she’d ever heard Hijikata Toshizou make a sound like that. 

The sheen of bone-white hair.

The acrid scent of blood. 

The overpowering urge to run when those crimson eyes fell upon her at last… LIke a hare staring into the eyes of a wolf. 

Throwing open the shoji, she shut them as carefully as she could and then took one, two long strides towards his desk before sinking to her knees beside him, where he was curled into a miserable ball. 

She was not certain Hijikata realized she was there, the fingers of his left hand digging so hard into the wood of his desk that it had cracked. The other wrapped around his torso, evident only because the usually immaculate folds of his kimono were soaked with enough sweat that the fabric clung to his skin. 

His skin was so pale that there was barely any distinguishing it from the now white strands of his hair, unkempt and as wild as bird’s nest. Only its sheen in the golden light of his desk lamp gave it away for what it really was. 

“Hijikata-san,” she said, voice so soft she feared it would be lost in the sound of the rain on the inn’s rooftop. 

Instead, those eyes slid to her, blurry at first as though he was confused. 

Then his gaze focused and he bore his teeth at her, the horrible points of them not escaping her attention. 

“Hamamura,” he managed to say, her name more a gasp than any kind of real word. 

He couldn’t say anything else when a shiver wracked his body and he doubled over again, his strength finally failing him as the desk’s brittle edge shattered in his grasp. Collapsing to the ground in a pile, a strangled noise that made her throat tight with fear and worry in equal parts pushed its way past his grey and trembling lips. 

She reached out for him, but he rolled away, curling in on himself again as he glared at her in a clear warning … One that didn’t phase her in the slightest when he looked so incredibly small and fragile. Mikoto could see the way his jaw strained and his temples seemed to pulse, holding back some impulse that was beyond her understanding … Until she remembered the look in Sanan’s eyes the night he’d gone feral. 

It was Sanan’s words that came to her again, his voice as clear as if he were whispering them in her ear when he warned her that denying the bloodlust only made it worse. The longer you resisted, it said in that politely melancholy tone, the more that it hurt to abstain, the more frequent the episodes of withdrawal became, until even the strongest of men lost their minds completely. 

That was not something the Shinsengumi - or at least what remained of it - could afford. 

Nor was it something Hijkata would ever want for himself. 

Steeling herself, she wrapped her hand around the grip of the wakizashi that Hijikata and Kondou-san had both granted her as a gift and cut her palm before he could even think of stopping her. It stung like a bitch, but she ignored the pain for his sake and held her hand out to him, watching as his eyes were drawn to it and a new kind of pain flooded his expression.

He was still resisting. 

“Stop,” she said, refusing to beg him to take care of himself as she thrust her arm towards him a second time. “You need this and you won’t hurt me, so don’t--” 

The strength that she thought he’d lost returned to him and he grasped her wrist before she could even process what had happened. Mikoto didn’t see him move, didn’t hear him move, was only aware that he had done so because she felt his tongue press flat against the gash in her hand before he opened his mouth and sucked. 

A shiver wracked her body, the sensation foreign and unpleasant but not really painful, the sounds he was making doing nothing to aid her sense of ease with the situation. His mouth was greedy, hungry, and a groan of relieved pleasure managed to make its way past his normal sense of restraint as he pressed her palm more tightly to his mouth. 

The sound made them both freeze. 

His crimson eyes flickered upwards and they were soon locked in one another’s gaze. 

“Fuck,” he gasped, breath humid against her skin. “Hamamura --” 

Hijikata cut himself, seeming uncertain what to say, which was seldom the case, his pupils darting left and right as if searching for an escape. Finally they settled on her, though not on her face, instead staring at the bottom of her torso before his arm snaked out quickly and wrapped around her waist. 

Mikoto found herself seated in his lap, staring over his shoulder at his swords sitting in their proper place on their stand. He was firm and strong beneath her, an arm securing her in place as his other held her wrist and pulled it to his mouth where he started to drink again, this time much more gently. 

He lapped at her blood in a way that she might describe as tender if she let her mind run away with her. 

His eyelashes were long and tickled her skin and made her want to squirm, and he was so hot that it was almost unbearable to be held by him, but she could feel his breathing grow more even and the tensed muscles in his body start to relax. Even his hold on her turned more comfortable and she was able to maneuver her hand upward to stroke it soothingly over the top of his head, trying to calm his nerves on instinct alone. 

After all, it had been a long time since she had been this close to a man for a reason unrelated to fighting. 

Perhaps responding to her touch, his lips turned reverent as his formerly bruising grip on her wrist relaxed. The desperation drained from him until his face was seemingly pressed against her palm just for the comfort of it, the ashen crown of his head returning to inky black underneath her palm. 

A wave of dizziness hit her and she swayed, his hand around her waist holding her upright, though he finally pulled away to look up at her. Color had returned to his face and those dark eyes of his were back, concern and annoyance flashing through them like stars in a midnight sky, relief flooding her at the sight … even as his brow furrowed further and he scowled up at her. 

Hijikata said nothing, shifting so that she was sitting against his ruined desk, a single look holding her in place as he left the room while muttering something about bandages and tea. Letting her body sag, she looked up at the ceiling for a moment and listened to the rain, her eyes slipping closed as she lost herself to the oddly sonorous noise. She found she was too tired to even care about the stinging of her self-inflicted wound, the memory of his lips in those last moments tingling on her skin. 

With everything that was happening it was sometimes easy for her to forget about the things they both kept hidden, but there was no hiding it all the time. 

Not even for someone like him. 

She wasn’t completely sure how long she sat there and was certain she may have dozed off once or twice by the time Hijikata finally returned. It was the smell of hot food that really roused her, her eyes flickering open just as he grabbed her wrist again to examine the gash on her hand, still frowning. 

“It’s not as deep as I thought,” he muttered, clicking his tongue before his eyes flickered back towards her face. “What the fuck were you thinking, Hamamura? Are you insane?” 

Mikoto laughed, relieved; he really was back to his usual self. 

In fact, even his human exhaustion seemed gone, as if he’d never been weary at all. 

“You needed me,” she said, clear images of the very first time he’d bandaged her hand surfacing in his thoughts; she could still feel the blisters from training, though her palms and fingers had long since grown calloused. 

Hijikata didn’t argue, though he did glower at her, careful to clean the wound the way Chizuru had shown them before wrapping cloth tightly around it. There was a familiar furrow in his brow, a deep valley that only served to sharpen already severe features, though the point where that could intimidate her had passed long ago. 

“You can pout at me all you want, but I’ll just tell everyone it was a tragic cooking accident,” Mikoto said with a lopsided smile. “You know I would do it again if it meant -”

“Shut up.” 

She looked down at him, watching him finish his work by tying off the bandage, sitting back before moving the tray he’d brought with him between the two of them. It had a few onigiri and a pot of tea … To her relief there were two cups, which meant that he was at least going to drink with her. 

But of course, his mouth couldn’t taste good. 

“You shouldn't have done it,” he said, pouring for her before unceremoniously thrusting the cup underneath her nose. “You’ve seen Furies with blood before, Hamamura. Trusting that I wouldn’t kill you was fucking idiotic. What if I had lost my mind and ripped your throat out?” 

It was always the worst possible scenario with him, wasn’t it? 

“That doesn’t matter,” she said in quiet protest. “My throat is perfectly intact and you look better than you have in weeks. I think you’ve proven you can handle it, and in any case, Sanan-san says - “ 

“Sanan-san might be going around cutting people up in the middle of the night,” Hijikata grunted, pouring for himself before swallowing his cup to the dregs in a single gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and made a face of disgust, looking away from her to stare instead at the tatami, “don’t think we should be taking his word on Furies like it’s a proclamation from the Buddha.” 

“Experience still tells me you can handle it,” Mikoto took a sip of her tea and let the warmth sip into her; it was more relieving than she’d realized it would be. “I trust you, Hijikata-san.”

In truth, there was no one in the world she trusted more, but he knew that. 

His jaw was set for a moment, as if he was still determined to be obstinate, before all the fight completely left him and his shoulders slumped in defeat. There was no more anger, only the weight of the duty that he’d taken upon himself in Kondou’s absence and the imminent threat of the Shogunate’s complete collapse that hung over them all every waking moment. 

“Eat,” Mikoto said to break the silence, picking up one of the onigiri and biting into it.

Food had never tasted so good. 

“They were for you,” he protested, snorting when she narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Fine. I’ll eat the damn thing,” he snatched it up and shoved half of it into his mouth at once, speaking around the rice in his mouth, “happy?” 

She almost choked on her rice, pounding her chest and coughing even as she laughed, watching his expression grow increasingly more irritated. And yet she couldn’t help herself, trying to wash down the rogue rice with another long drink of her room-temperature tea… Just like he liked to drink it. 

Talking with his mouth full, speaking as rudely as he could possibly manage to, picking fights with his subtle sarcasm, and refusing to ever concede a point; these were all little quirks of his that might make him unruly or unattractive to others. Hijikata was an eccentric man but she appreciated him all the more for it, especially when it was coupled with that unflinching kindness that governed him in his most secret places. 

“Good,” Mikoto said approvingly as she caught her breath. “I have to make sure you don’t collapse from exhaustion or I’ll have failed Kondou-san.” 

She smiled at him for a moment, then glanced down to stare at her reflection in the green surface of the tea; even now her new bob was jarring to her though it didn’t bother her as much as it might have even a year ago. But just like her head, her soul now felt unburdened with the new clarity of purpose she’d received the day she finally let go of her identity as Hamamura Mikoto and became Mikoto of the Shinsengumi. 

She would protect Hijikata Toshizou and take care of him, and in turn he would protect and direct the path of the Shinsengumi. 

That was simply how it would be from now on, and in that she had finally found a sense of peace. 

* * *

Division seemed inevitable to her at this point, but she decided it was best not to think about it as she sat tea down on the table where Hijikata had spread the maps. This late it was bound to be only the two of them … Or perhaps Sanan-san and Heisuke, if the mood struck them, though she doubted it would.

They were out on one of their infamous moonlight patrols, after all. 

“The region is mountainous,” she said, sitting down next to him, his now-short hair still catching her off guard in profile as unruly strands broke free from where he’d slicked them back from his eyes. “Will we need to move single file?”

“No. Two by two… maybe three by three,” Hijikata muttered in response, tapping the various passes with the tip of his index finger. “We’ll head out soon, though -- Gotta find some place for Kondou-san to reset up and gain back his resolve. Someplace remote…” 

She could hear the note of unease in his voice, watching as his nose wrinkled and he reached blindly for the cup she’d just finished pouring. Emptying it in a single gulp, he set it back down and finally turned his head to look at her, his eyes scanning her before he reached out to absently touch the pin in her hair. 

“You’re wearing it,” he said, then gave her one of his classic half-smiles and nodded approvingly, “looks good on you.” 

“Didn’t know you were interested in complimenting yourself,” Mikoto said with a chuckle, adjusting the pin so that others could more easily see the intricate hollyhock carved into the simple wood hairpin. “But thank you; it means a lot to me.” 

His smile didn’t vanish but he did look bemused, though his eyes softened in one of the ways he saved for the very few people he held in intimate confidence; a number which was increasingly dwindling. There was Shin-san and Sano-san, of course, who had absconded with Chizuru almost as soon as they’d returned from their greatest loss yet… But Yamazaki’s broken body was foremost in her mind, as well as Gen-san’s barely recognizable corpse, and she swallowed her bile at the thought of Kazama Chikage not for the first time.

And certainly not for the last. 

“You’re strange,” he said in the tone of voice that sounded like “I love you,” which she wholeheartedly accepted by shoving him lightly. 

“Who’s strange? The foolish woman or the fool who employs her?” She said with a beaming smile, her attitude changing the moment he actually toppled over onto his side from her playful push. 

She watched his body go rigid, his fingers winding into the fabric of his kimono as an expression of pure agony overcame his features. The black leached from his hair, white encroaching on its territory until it was completely consumed, like the frigid winters of the snowy north decayed everything green and vital in their path … And his eyes took on that ungodly red color, shining now with equal parts crippling pain and insatiable hunger. 

Mikoto reached for her blade. 

Hijikata’s hand stopped her. 

“No,” he said, the word a hiss of air between his clenched teeth, managing to shake his head as he pushed himself unsteadily to his knees. 

He paused as if catching his breath then spoke again, his voice trembling like unstable earth, “turn around.” 

Her eyebrows shot up but she did what she was told, his hot, sweaty hands tugging her collar open enough to expose the nape of her neck. The whisper of Izuminokami was all she needed to know what would happen next, bracing herself for the stinging kiss of steel against her skin. All of that was something Mikoto could prepare herself for, could mentally handle if she closed her eyes and let herself breathe through it. 

She didn’t think she would ever be prepared for the feel of his lips touching her skin to drink her blood. 

Mikoto shivered at the sensation, refusing to close her eyes and choosing instead to stare straight ahead unflinchingly. His breath tickled her neck as he sighed in relief as his hands grasped her arms to hold her in place, but in spite of that sigh his body was still so tense … And there was a slight tremor in his fingers that she soon realized was from restraint, of all things, his mouth at the back of her neck uncharacteristically timid for a man whose glare was made of cold steel. 

She reached up, covering his hands and realizing for the first time how much larger they were than her own, especially when he took them and wrapped his arms around her. Their fingers clasped together in front of them, he pulled her back against his chest and wrapped her in his arms.

His heart thudded at her back, the heat of his body penetrating her clothing he was so fevered, but his stiff muscles relaxed and his drinking turned more vigorous. Neck tingling where his mouth pressed to her wound, a shiver wracked her body when he suddenly trailed a long, slow lick across the length of the laceration. 

It was enough to draw a gasp from between her lips. 

The sound seemed to give him pause for a moment, his lips and tongue ceasing their quest for blood long enough for her to get a sense of what he was feeling … Guilt, regret, sadness, and a strain of something new. Excitement, she realized, her own heart thundering in response to that single thought that was blasted to nothing as if fired on by a canon the moment he licked her a second time and drew another noise from her. 

Hijikata shivered behind her, his hold on her tightening for a moment as if battling himself, the raw instinct of the Fury at war with his rationality. 

It was clear which side won when his hands moved. 

He slid them slowly across her body, one trailing down her stomach and leaving sparks in the wake of his fingertips while the other tried to work its way into her already loosened kimono with limited success. Her mind moving more slowly than his body, he’d already tugged enough for her to feel the cold air against her collarbone by the time she fully processed what was happening, his questing hand slipping inside the gap. 

Her stomach lurched, but not from discomfort, when he brushed his hands eagerly over the skin just underneath her bindings. Hijikata’s touch was molten, and she had spent so long wanting him that she felt like she would burn up from his attention, her own mind in turmoil as the rational part of her screamed what a bad idea this was -- They couldn’t do this, there was too much at risk, and he was -- He was still -- 

His teeth nipped at the back of her neck, his head tilting to the side to search for new skin to touch and taste, finding the place just behind her ear. This time, it was definitely a kiss, though there was plenty of teeth; enough that she was certain he would leave a mark just outside of where anyone could really see it. 

It felt good, the sting, and the way he was suddenly tugging at her bindings to touch her breasts made desire surge through her core. Mikoto wanted his rough hands all over her body, wanted him to taste her skin and to taste his, in turn, to thread her fingers through that silky hair of his and put his clever mouth right where she desperately wanted - needed - it to be. 

Arching her back, she pressed herself against him and felt him groan as he pressed back, greedily drinking in the sound he’d made just for her. It had been so long since she’d felt anyone wanted her that she felt drunk from the attention he rained on her in the form of kisses. Kisses he pressed against the column of her neck and down to her shoulder. This man … Hijikata, this wonderful, confounding, dizzyingly stubborn man … 

The feeling of the hand pressed to her stomach suddenly slipping lower was a jolt of shameful self-awareness, making the room feel cavernous and drawing her attention to the heavy footfalls just outside the door. 

Very familiar footfalls. 

Mikoto grasped Hijikata’s wrist and jerked it away, falling forward onto her hands and knees, which suddenly felt very much like jelly. Behind her she heard him grunt in surprise, rolling over in time to see the fog in his eyes clear, too stunned at and ashamed of herself to really feel much more than vague gratitude that they were their normal violet again. 

His eyes darted between her, his discarded sword with a bit of her blood still on the blade, and her bandaged hand before he dragged his palm across his face. 

“Shit.” 

Mikoto didn’t wait for him to say anything else, straightening herself before she stood on unsteady legs and reached for her own blade. Not even bothering to place it back at her side, she opened the doors and hurried past a waiting Kondou-san, refusing to pause to greet him as she fled that room and its heat. 

Heat that still lingered on her skin, burning on her face. 

Racing outside to the well, she put her blades down and went to splash water on her face, jumping when a hand suddenly fell on her shoulder only to find herself nose to nose with Saito. 

Immediately, she relaxed. 

“Your neck is bleeding,” he said quietly, “I’ll need to treat the wound.” 

Mikoto nodded, letting him take her wrist and lead her away, sitting her firmly on the veranda, realizing for the first time how tall he’d grown since they’d met all those years ago in Kyoto. His once rounded face had thinned out and he had become a lean and handsome young man, and someone she trusted with her life. 

Had she really been around his age now when the two of them had first met?

It was hard to believe, and yet … 

“You’re staring,” the comment drifted down to her from above, and she laughed, shaking her head slowly from side to side; it was just like him to make that kind of statement.

Saito had never quite grown out of being awkward, but she didn’t mind. 

His honesty was comforting. 

“I feel old,” she said, flexing her hands to stare down at them, these hands so much like a man’s and yet still so much smaller.“Most women my age have had more than one child already and can expect to be grandmothers in less than a decade. And yet here I am, still living as a man, having given my entire life in service of the Shogun.” 

She flexed her fingers and bowed her head, listening to him breathe for a moment, unsurprised when he sat down beside her. The wind tousled his now short hair, and she could see moonlight reflected in his eyes.

In that moment, she wanted nothing more than for at least him to live on and see whatever world existed at the end of this …. It was truthfully because after Kofu and everything that had happened there, she sincerely doubted the Shogunate would win this fight. The time of the samurai was ending, but Saito Hajime was strong enough, adaptable enough, that he could carry what was left of the samurai spirit into the new world. 

He could preserve what was good about them and pass it on to others. 

A living example, unlike the words she still hadn’t given up on, the words that were perhaps more important than ever. 

“I don’t regret it,” she told him, and meant it with everything she was. “I would follow Hijikata Toshizou to the ends of the earth and back. I’m at peace with the choices I’ve made, but there’s still a part of me that longs for a simple existence where there’s more at the end than death.” 

Mikoto looked away, unable to meet his eyes or keep what she knew had to be a self-deprecating smile from her lips. 

“Does that make me a bad samurai?” she asked him. “I would face death a thousand times. I know now that I’d even cut myself open if there was cause to, but ... “ 

She sighed and tears finally began to sting her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. 

Mikoto wanted a world where she and Hijikata could eventually retire and have what they both clearly wanted. Where they could have settled down near his family and enjoyed some time together in a place where they could learn more about each other through the easier parts of life. 

Saito had had that time with him and the others, back at the Shieikan before they’d come to Kyoto and he’d met up with them again. 

That was something she would never have.

So how could she be mourning it? 

“There’s no shame in valuing the levity in life,” Saito said, his soft voice creating ripples on the surface of her mind. “Feelings of camaraderie, those memories you have in common with your trusted allies … Even if the situation around you changes and times become turbulent, those memories will not fade. You value those things, and wish for a future where they could have been fulfilled, and yet still accept the current reality for what it is.” 

His now large hand fell on her shoulder, a reminder that she was one of his own trusted allies, a treasured comrade, someone he had sworn to serve with and valued in his own way. Just as she valued him, and all the others they had lost and found again over the years … The rest of the Shinsengumi. 

“Knowing what you fight for does not make you less of a warrior,” he assured her in that same calming tone of voice. “Many do not get to experience the certainty of knowing what they would die for.” 

He was right … Of course he was.

Saito Hajime had grown wise.

“Thank you,” Mikoto said in response, knowing she needn’t say anything more. 

In return, he gave her the smallest of smiles. 

“I’ll go and prepare the things to treat your wound,” he said after a moment, leaving Mikoto alone to relish in the sound of the whispering branches of nearby trees and the feeling of the wind that cooled the hot tears spilling down her face. 

* * *

The small fire the group of them shared was dim and sad, barely illuminating the dark woods and providing any heat to the remaining members of the Shinsengumi who marched with their Vice-Chief towards Utsunomiya. Miserable, they kept to the dewey edges of the circle, keeping their distance from the man who pensively sent a few sparks into the air as he moved a log, his dark eyes reflecting nothing but the flames. 

Mikoto ignored them, ignored their Vice-Chief, and instead kept her ears trained to the whispers of the soldiers in western military garb… The men of the Denshu Company, who spoke ill of the Shinsengumi in a way that didn’t surprise it. She knew full well Hijikata had let that part of his reputation grow and the rumors swell until he was one of the most feared men in Kyoto … And even across Japan. He’d done it on purpose, so his reputation might stop the weak minded and willed from challenging the Shinsengumi, but hearing it now and knowing how much he was struggling made her sick. 

The only thing that had her biting her tongue was because no amount of defending his character would do any good in this moment. 

She doubted anything short of a miracle would. 

Feeling eyes on her back, she looked up to find Kai looking at her with a concerned expression on his face. She swung her legs over the side of the stump she was sitting on and pushed herself to her feet, walking over to him, tugging her chin so that he followed. 

Once they were alone she leaned against a tree and peered up through the branches, waiting for him to say what he felt was necessary. 

“The Chief… How is he?” his deep voice rumbled with its usual tender patience, which had once been the opposite to Yamazaki’s quiet intensity. “He hasn’t been the same since we departed Edo …” 

Mikoto shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest, Hijikata’s forced smile as they’d bid a frail and skeletal Souji goodbye seared into her eyelids. Kai already knew how Hijikata was, didn’t he? It was obvious just by looking at him … 

“Don’t let him catch you calling him that,” she said after a moment, in which only the sound of owls hooting and night bugs chirping could be heard. “He hasn’t accepted it yet, and I doubt he will until…”

She swallowed, unable to bring herself to say it, feeling the warmth of Kondou’s last bone-crushing hug still surrounding her. His eyes had been so sad, but there was still a resilience there, a desire to protect that which he loved the most in this world… 

That which they  _ both _ loved most. 

_ Take care of Toshi for me, Mako-kun.  _

Why did his sacrifice to give back everything Hijikata had given for him have to leave one of them dead and the other broken? Biting her lip, she finally looked up into Kai’s face and shook away her grief, because if she wasn’t the strong hand of the Shinsengumi in this moment no one else would be. 

No one was better prepared to take up the mantle of the Vice-Chief than she was, even if they were nothing more than fragments of what they used to be. 

“You and the men should follow his orders,” she told him. “Gather the others and go to the rear guard. He’s right … They could use the experience we gained at Toba-Fushimi to help provide the untested with guidance. If we’re going to fight a civil war, we need veterans amongst the rabble.” 

Kai looked at her for a long moment, his black eyes searching her face for something, before he nodded once curtly and bowed in deference to the orders;  _ her  _ orders. 

Not that anyone other than Kai and Hijikata knew that she was a woman … She didn’t even think that Otori-san had suspected earlier on, but after so long living like a man she probably walked and talked more or less like one. Especially since her men - her brothers-at-arms - were the rough and tumble type who could sleep under the stars on nothing but an old mat if they had to. It was just as well, wasn’t it? 

She would do whatever she could to pen a satisfying ending to the story of the Shinsengumi, even if she had to pick up the banner of ‘Sincerity’ herself. Mikoto owed that much to Kondou-san and his memory, to Souji wasting away in Edo somewhere instead of dying the death he deserved, to Gen-san and Yamazaki who had given their lives, and to all the disparate men who had once worn the blues… 

But most of all, she owed it to herself to see this to completion. 

“As you say,” Kai said, “I’ll gather the men and set out for the rear’s camp immediately.” He paused, looking her over, his thick brows furrowed over his eyes, “what will you do?” 

Mikoto smiled, then looked over her shoulder, back towards the ring of light. 

“I’ll stay here and watch over the Chief,” she said at last, “someone needs to make sure he pulls through this.” 

Kai nodded and she watched him go, closing her eyes and leaning against the trunk of the tree to catch her breath. Before too long, she heard the sounds of the other men leaving through the brush and talking amongst themselves, though she could not make out what they were saying. Behind the noises, the fire still crackled and an owl hooted again, leaving her to face Hijikata in solitude. 

Taking one more breath, she put her hand on the grip of her blade, squeezed, and then walked back towards the encampment. Sinking back down onto the stump, she didn’t make eye contact with Hijikata, instead taking out her katana and the blade oil she kept in a pouch at her side. Mimicking the way Saito had shown her a long time ago, she began the process of caring for her sword to pass the time and prepare for the battles ahead. 

“You didn’t go with them.”

Hijikata’s voice only broke the silence when she’d completely oiled one side and started to move on to the other. Mikoto refused to look up at him, instead staring at her reflection on the layered metal, her eyes seeming to glow truly yellow in the firelight. Every day, she looked more and more like a samurai and somehow more and more like herself, even if she no longer wore hakama and kimono. 

“And leave you here with only the bugs for company?” she asked, setting her oil and rag down on the stump next to her to finally look up at him. “What would you possibly talk about?” 

His eyes narrowed and it was clear that he didn’t find her joke particularly amusing, but he also didn’t snap at her to shut up. After everything that had happened recently, Mikoto honestly considered that to be an improvement, especially when he made clear eye-contact with her and then sighed. 

“If I knew Kondou-san was coming back, I could go out there ready to fight and die,” he smiled but there was no mirth in it at all, an expression that was all teeth like a snarl or a grimace. “As things are, if I’m gone there’s not anything left of the Shinsengumi at all.” 

He ran his hands over the grip of Izuminokami, though he still stared at her… Though it may be more accurate to say he stared past her at the line of trees behind her head. As he spoke all the life left in him drained from him, shoulders slumping, the dark circles under his eyes making his eyes look black and lightless. 

“I can’t do this on my own.” 

The words were so quiet she wasn’t sure she was meant to hear them, but whether she was meant to or not her response would have been the same. Putting her blade back in its sheath, she walked over and sat next to him on the cold ground, refusing to acknowledge the disgruntled look he gave her in response. 

Saying nothing, she waited for him to continue speaking, sensing the words on the tip of his tongue. When his hand lashed out to hit the tree trunk behind them hard enough to send birds and little critters skittering and crack the bark, she knew she’d been right for certain. 

“I’m so fucking stupid! Shinpachi and Sano were right the entire damn time! Of course that bastard Awanokami wouldn’t have given us weapons and money without an ulterior motive!” He hit the tree again, its branches rattling in feeble protest, “but no! I was so up my own ass trying to win Kondou-san glory that I didn’t see what was right in front of my face. I should have seen it, especially since it’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with the bastard plotting shit behind the Shogunate’s back.” 

He laughed bitterly, running his hand over his face to push the few strands of hair there back out of his eyes. Rasping breaths made their way through his clenched teeth, mouth still frozen into a sneer, though his eyes looked wet with unshed tears. 

“Because of my lack of foresight, we lost at Kofu and Kondou-san lost his spirit,” he bowed his head until his bangs brushed the top of his knees, his words strained, “now we can’t get either back and the war’s all but lost. Just like that… We’re the rebels now, now that Awanokami handed over Edo to the Choshu.” 

Mikoto bit her lip, refusing to say anything until she knew for sure that he was done speaking, knowing that if she did anything less it was sure to turn into an argument. When he’d healed more from this, she would push back, challenge his perception of events as he remembered them … But for now there was no point in any of that because if she pushed him too far he might shatter completely. 

And she had to keep him together.

Whether he realized it or not, he was the one who’d held everything together for years now. No one questioned his logic when he spoke because he always spoke with such confidence, and even Awanokami Katsu would have had a contingency plan for if he and Kondou had actually managed to take and hold Kofou successfully. 

They had been set up to fail, but that didn’t mean it had been guaranteed … There was just so much beyond any of their control. 

Even if, looking back, there was a lot for everyone to regret. 

“We broke our backs for years to earn our swords,” he said, finally turning his head to look at her. “The Shogunate asked us to bust our asses, and we did … Just to earn the right to be called ronin. Now every farmer and peasant in Choshu thinks he’s a soldier just because he can shoot a gun.”

She watched as his hand reached out and dug into the earth below them, coming up with a fistful of dirt that he squeezed until plant matter and soil came out between his fingers. Hijikata did not relinquish his hold on it, his knuckles turning white with strain. 

“Aren’t samurai supposed to be the masters of warfare?” he asked, his tone manic, desperate, and hallowly cheerful as it was biting. “What the hell have we been fighting so hard for?” 

Mikoto reached out and seized his hand, prying his fingers forcefully open to find he’d squeezed so hard his fingernails had scraped up his palm. She uncorked the canteen at her side, pouring water over the dirt only to watch as the scrapes and bumps sealed themselves immediately, as if they’d never been there. 

“Is anything I believed in still true?” 

She soothed her thumbs over his palm, holding it in both of her hands, watching as his fingers slowly curled around her own. Dropping her other hand back to her lap, she stared at the place where they touched and listened to him speak. 

“We all fought so damn hard to get here, Hamamura. We did whatever we could to get up this hill, and now that we’re here there’s nothing at the top. What are we supposed to do? What…” his words choked off in a sob that she heard him swallow, “what am I supposed to believe in?”

He was really asking her, wasn’t he? 

He’d lost everything he’d fought so hard for when he lost Kondou.

After all, Kondou-san had been more than just a person to him … he’d represented Hijikata’s ideals, the idea that anyone could embody the nobility and honor of a samurai no matter the station of their birth. Together they’d built the Shinsengumi up from nothing, and she’d been there to watch it, to watch the two of them as they stood side by side and grown from a couple of dojo rats into the leaders of Kyoto’s most respected and feared ronin corps. 

Not anyone could have flourished the way they did. 

It was only because they were them that they had succeeded, because the Shinsengumi could look up to them as examples of samurai. 

Even now that the Shogunate’s biggest daimyo and political leaders had abandoned them … The men here still surely saw Hijikata as just that. 

An ideal samurai. 

Someone to look up to the same way he looked up to Kondou. 

“I don’t know,” she said at last, her words heavy and awkward in her own throat as her heart throbbed for him, for a man who could see his place in the world slipping away before his very eyes as he lost all he’d once held dear. “Each man chooses for himself what to believe in, Hijikata-san. For example …” 

She reached out with her other hand to make him face her, looking into his eyes to see the brokenness in them, to feel how lost he felt. Keeping her palm against the side of his face, she carefully brushed her thumb across his cheekbone, praying that he would not turn away from her touch now, that he would let her help him the same way he’d helped so many others.

That he would let her love him. 

“I believe in you,” she told him, keeping her voice firm. “I know the kind of man you are, and so do all those men out there. You’re a samurai, HIjikata Toshizou, even if you don’t know what that means to you anymore. We’ll look to you no matter what you decide.” 

Because he wouldn’t stop fighting, even if he didn’t know why he fought any longer. 

Hijikata Toshizou, even at his lowest, would not give up. 

His hand covered her own to pull it away, but he didn’t relinquish his hold on her fingers, their hands clasped together between the two of them. Holding them there, he gave her a weary smile that warmed his features just enough that she felt justified in praying for his recovery. 

“Yeah,” he said, “guess the only person who can decide what I should be fighting for is me. Besides, we’ve got a battle coming up. I should probably be worrying about winning that instead of bitching about my problems. You hear me whine enough. Shouldn’t put this on you, too.” 

After a second longer that way he sighed and pulled away, leaning his head back against the tree trunk to look at what little they could see of the stars above through the intertwining branches, “I probably should’ve asked you to leave a long time ago.”

“I’m not going,” she said firmly, drawing her arms around her legs and propping her head up on her knees, joining him in stargazing. “Where else is a woman like me going to go now, Hijikata-san?”

She didn’t even have a surname to protect her any longer … And what’s to say things wouldn’t change for her now that Japan was starting to Westernize? What role would she be asked to take now that she’d chosen to deny herself the role of a wife and a mother? 

“You’d figure something out,” he said, then snorted, “but there’s no point in telling you otherwise. You’ll just do whatever you want, won’t you?” 

It wasn’t really a question, so she felt no need to answer him. 

Together they sat in silence, side by side, the weight of the moment dragging on with only the wildlife and the sounds of distant soldiers laughing and talking keeping them company. Somewhere out there, Kai was with the rest of their men integrating themselves into the rear guard and sharing their expertise … And then, in Aizu, Saito would be there looking up at the same sky as he helped with the resistance that was mounting there at this very moment. Maybe Sano, Shin, and Chizuru weren’t too far away, either … And surely Heisuke and Sanan were still there under the cover of darkness. 

She didn’t think about Kondou, alone in confinement, for longer than she had to.

If she did she might lose her tenuous grip on her much needed composure. 

The silence did not last for long. 

Just like always, her first clue to his condition was a strangled gasp that turned into a bit-off groan of pain. It left Mikoto to scramble, grabbing both of their blades before she covered him with her body and tried to drag him a bit further into the darkness where they could be hidden from any prying eyes as his hair turned moonlight white and his eyes eerie red. 

Together, they fell against a new tree, his breath labored as he stared up at her with half-lidded eyes. 

Mikoto hovered over him, then reached up to undo the buttons at her neck, watching him the entire time as he pushed himself into a proper sitting position. Izuminokami’s scabbard scraped through the dirt as he took the blade in hand, drawing it with great effort, their eyes still locked. The sheen of sweat on his brow reflected the same moonlight as the blade itself, his free hand shooting out to pull her close, this time making the cut at her front.

She didn’t know if it would out of shame or convenience, but she didn’t care, pulling his head to the fresh wound as he moved towards it. Hijikata’s mouth was gentle, more gentle than it had ever been, his arms wrapping around her to pull her close, his grasp one that sought comfort and understanding beyond all else … Comfort that she was more than willing to give him, reaching out to run the fingers of both her hands through his soft, thick hair. 

Refusing to look at him for the sake of his wounded pride, her eyes instead sought shapes in the bark of the tree he leaned against. The faces of their friends smiled back at her, as if cheering them both on, encouraging her to be the one to hold him together until he could find the strength to climb out of the abyss.

Not on his own, this time, Mikoto thought as a shiver ran through her body. 

This time she would extend a rope to him, one made of the hopes and confidence the Shinsengumi put in him, and pull him up the last few feet herself. 

It was just a matter of getting him to take it, which was a task that may prove to be the most difficult of all.


End file.
